


the wolf at our doorstep

by dolcemorte



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Deepest Lore, Gen, Lore - Freeform, maria just wants to nap in peace, messing around with lore for no profit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:34:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21583153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolcemorte/pseuds/dolcemorte
Summary: They pray for rain, mouths full of ash and blood.
Relationships: Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower & Brador
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	the wolf at our doorstep

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [волк у нашего порога](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25351405) by [Knightess_of_Cainhurst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightess_of_Cainhurst/pseuds/Knightess_of_Cainhurst)



> really interested in the prototype/ cut content for maria and how it shaped sister friede in ds3. thought it would be interesting to see the relationship between friede and vilhelm applied to maria and brador. it's less respect and more begrudging roommates.

It didn't take long for the huntress to figure out she wasn't alone. For an assassin, Brador rarely bothered to mask his presence.  
His laugh rattling in his chest, breathing raspy with the effort of climbing her tower. She was less the fairy tale princess in need of saving and more the fire-breathing wyrm set to roast him. It was the cruel irony of the higher powers bringing the two together, bathed in the blood of innocents.

Brador was as charming as a serpent and twice as cold-blooded. Both of them were eternally tools of a bloody system, ready to spit them out once they lose usefulness. Only Brador didn't mind serving if he could rip and tear bodies apart with his hellish mace. Even at her height as a student, the huntress never enjoyed the kill as much as he did. It was an erotic thrill to him, his body shaking and twitching after properly goring some unfortunate soul.

"Lady Maria," Brador gives her a mock bow, his yellowing teeth bared a weak approximation of a sincere smile.

He's so unlike the other hunters of the Nightmare. They pray for rain, mouths full of ash and blood. Although she never feels clean anymore, even drenched to the bone. Yharnam's poor, bastard children, left to rot under unknown skies. Rabid with disease and curses. They knew not even their own names. It was a fitting end for their wretched lot, Maria supposes. 

Brador's grin was bloody, sharp as a knife. The same smile he always wore, even when wrenching the still warm pelts off his own allies. He's not shy about his sins; he lays them bare, flecks of rotted flesh caught between his teeth as he laughs. He was simply in love with his own carnage in a way the Huntress could never fathom. 

"To what do I owe the misfortune of your company?" Maria's sea foam tinged eyes roam over him lazily, one gloved hand resting on the ornate sheath tucked under her arms. Fingers tracing the curves, mapping ridges she knew intimately. It was both a threat to him and a comfort for her. Maria could not choose her allies here, but of all the ones this dream had gifted her, Rakuyo was at least quiet. 

"I'm hurt. Just wanted to chat with a fellow hunter. A couple of old friends lost in a dream," he sneers under his hood. "Especially since I'm the one doing all the dirty work around here. Lost your stomach, dear lady? Can't slit a throat for old times' sake?" He drags a bloody finger across his throat, miming a blade slash. It's a deep jab; his cold flint eyes settled on her own bleeding throat, hidden beneath her soaked cravat. 

"Leave my sight. I don't have time for you." To her own credit, her voice never wavers. He's petty, aiming for all her old wounds. They have all the time in the world, but neither will say it aloud. Maria lets the barest hint of Rakuyo peak out from her sheath, glinting in the soft fire light. The warning was unsubtle, her tone left no room for Brador's usual 'games'. At his core, the Church Assassin was still nothing more than one of Laurence's puppets. A waste of her time even in death.

Did he know, did he revel in it? 

Perhaps he would kill for any man who would entertain his bloody vices. A pity. All of the Vicar's hounds were the same, after all. She knew that too well. 

"Of course, My Lady. Always straight to the point." He cackles, raising his hands in mock surrender. With another mock bow, the assassin turns around and begins to walk away, the sound of his laughter ringing through the cavernous clock tower after him. "We should talk again soon."

**Author's Note:**

> brador has a spare key to the clocktower. don't ask where he keeps it.


End file.
